Don't Call Me Baby
by Mr Sinister
Summary: Psylocke has some thinking to do...


**__**

Don't Call Me Baby

I pick up the phone and dial Brian's number. Of course, there's no guarantee that he'll be in – Captain Britain has his own responsibilities, after all; we both know the consequences of assuming the mantle of the embodiment of the British Isles. In my case, I am reminded every time I open my eyes. Were it not for Slaymaster, I'd not have been blinded and made to "see" with my mind instead – but now I have my sight back. Brian only has to keep away from the bottle for the rest of his life. Sometimes I wonder who has the worst punishment.

After a few rings, I hear the receiver being picked up, and the sweet, musical voice of my sister in law says "Hello?"

"Hello, Meggan," I say. "It's Betsy here. I'm just calling for Brian, but I suppose you can help my side of this matter more than he can. I have… a favour to ask of both of you – I need some advice."

"Fire away, Betsy. You know the pair of us will do whatever we can for you." Meggan sounds a lot less concerned than I do, but then I suppose that's part and parcel of being a faerie: mortal problems don't seem so important all of a sudden. I take a deep breath, and say "Warren asked me to marry him three days ago." Meggan almost squeals with delight. 

"That's wonderful, Betsy! So when have you set the date for? Will Brian and I have to fly over there, or are you coming back here?"

"That's just it, Meggan – I haven't said yes yet. I haven't said no, either – but I'm so confused. I wanted to know how you and Brian dealt with this before I make any firm decisions." Even over the phone, I can sense Meggan's slight puzzlement and confusion.

"Why?" she asks. "Don't you love Warren?"

"I do, Meggan – very much. I think I want to spend the rest of my life with him."

"Then why didn't you say yes?"

It's a fair point, I suppose. "Because he just got down on one knee and took me by surprise. I didn't know what to say. And that's why I'm calling you two – I was hoping that you could help me make my mind up."

"With all due respect, Betsy, you're the only one who can do that." Meggan's voice is concerned, now. "Brian and I are completely different to you and Warren, you know. Only you can decide what's best for you. It depends on how you feel. You say you love Warren – let him know! Tell him how much you care for him. He'll only wait so long, you know – and then you'll have lost him for good. Do you want that?"

"No, I –"

"Then tell him that, too. What you have with Warren only comes along once in a lifetime, Betsy – believe me, I know. I've looked." She pauses for a second and then says "Brian's here now. I'll pass you over to him if you like."

"Thank you," I say, almost in a daze. Meggan doesn't hold back when she has a point to put across. Fortunately the brief respite I get is enough for me to pull myself together and take a deep breath.

"Hello, Betsy," says Brian, in his deep, educated voice, which is edged with tinges of German and Russian, evidence of his living with Kurt and Peter for so long. "What can I do for you?" 

"Hello, Brian," I say. "Don't laugh, but I have some good news, and I have some bad news."

"You're asking for me to laugh, when you say things like that," Brian says, stifling a snigger. "All right, I'll bite. What's the good news, first of all?"

"Warren asked me to marry him."

"And the bad news?"

"I didn't say yes."

"But you didn't say no, either, did you?"

"No." I sometimes wonder if Brian's ability to do this is linked to my being his twin sister, or if perhaps he has latent telepathy, and hasn't told anyone about it yet.

"That's one good thing, at least. Betsy, Warren loves you – Meggan and I have both seen it with our own eyes – it's as plain as day. Haven't you noticed?"

"I'm a telepath," I say, with a certain amount of venom. "It's impossible for me not to."

"Then why this reluctance, Betsy?"

"Oh, Brian, it's not Warren's fault. It's… it's nothing. It's everything." I take a breath to compose myself and move a troublesome hair out of my eyes. "I just… I just don't want to get married without Mama and Papa there to give me away. I'd feel as if I were betraying their trust."

"Come on, Betsy," Brian says sternly. "You know they wouldn't want you to hold back on their account. This is your life to live, not theirs. You know they're watching over us both – they'll be there, I promise."

"I wish I could be so sure," I say wistfully. Brian's frustration flares, but he keeps his voice even, calm.

"Betsy, you can't let what happened to our parents get in the way of your having a life of your own. I'm sure Warren would agree with me. You have to grab this thing with both hands, or it'll slip away from you. You don't want to lose Warren like you lost Doug, do you?" The mention of Doug's name stings like a splinter through my heart.

"That's not fair, Brian," I say, softly, feeling hot tears beginning to bead at the corners of my eyes.

"Why?" Brian's question is genuine, not rhetorical, and I can imagine him sitting back, awaiting my answer. "Because you don't love Warren like you loved Doug? Vice versa?"

"No!" My voice rises involuntarily and I have to take a second to try and calm my heart down so that I can answer him. "No, Brian. I loved Doug – I still do. I wish with all my heart that he could still be here today. I miss him terribly."

"I know, Betsy, but do you want to end up missing Warren, too, because you couldn't get past wishing that Doug was still here? He wouldn't want you to dwell on this either, Betts – you can't change the past, any more than you can predict the future with any certainty. Warren is who you should be concerned about right now. The dead can't be hurt any more. I'm sorry to be so blunt, Betsy, but I can't stand to think of my sister being unhappy when she could be just the opposite. You're my own flesh and blood, Betts – you're the dearest thing in my life. I couldn't stand by and see you hurting yourself because of things you can't change. Do you see what I'm getting at, Betts? Please don't throw away what you and Warren have because you're afraid of this or that. Believe me, it takes a lot of guts to hold a marriage together, and you're one of the gutsiest people I know. Anyone who's been through what you've been through can handle a little thing like a husband, I think." That's enough to make me laugh, finally, and I can feel his amusement on the other end of the line.

"There you are," he says. "Do you think you have a handle on where you want to take things from here now?"

"I think so, Brian," I say. "Thanks for the advice. Tell Meggan I say thank you too, all right? I love you, Brian."

"I love you too, butterfly." His use of my parents' pet name for me makes me blush involuntarily. Brian laughs his deep, rich laugh and says "See you soon. Stay well." And then he hangs up. I hook the receiver back into its cradle and ponder one what he has said.

As I do so, Brian's feelings and thoughts are replaced by the everyday mental chittering of the rest of the team. I can hear Bobby worrying about what shirt he's going to wear to the most fashionable club in the Village tonight, and I can sense Logan mock-stalking a doe and her baby in the woods beyond the edges of the garden. Storm is flying across the lake and whipping small gusts of wind up here and there to change her direction almost at random. And there, in the orchard just a little way off from the orangery, is Warren. I could talk to him telepathically, but this is something I want to do to his face. 

I slip down the stairs of the East Wing and through the outer doors of the mansion silently, passing Hank as he watches "The Groovy Ghoulies" on the television set in the rec. room, and Gambit and Rogue as they play a game of pool, Gambit always pushing to steal a kiss from our resident Southern belle, even though she could quite easily squash his head like a grape if he tried too hard. You have to admire the man's persistence. 

Seeing how far away Warren is, I melt into a shadow just outside the doorway, and emerge behind him, not making a sound. He is sitting facing the sunset, a bottle of cold beer in his hand.

_Hey, handsome,_ I say, and enjoy the sense of surprise and delight that spreads through his mind as I lay a quick kiss on his lips. He tastes of hops and Twinkies, but I don't mind.

"Hey," he replies, a little surprised. "What brings you out here?"

"Oh, you know – the usual," I tell him. "Sunset is one of my favourite times of the day. I like to see the world go to sleep."

"You would," he replies. "You're like a cat – you spend twenty-three hours a day sleeping."

"Spoken like a true slob," I retort. Then, taking a deep breath, I continue "Warren, I've been thinking about what you said the other day."

"What I… oh." His face falls. "This is going to be bad news, isn't it?" I shake my head vehemently, and put a finger to his lips.

"No, sweetheart, no. Not at all. Just hear me out, though, all right?"

"All right, Betts," he says, putting his beer down on the nearest flat rock. "All right."

I sit down, cross-legged, in front of him, and take his soft blue hands in my own. "This relationship has been the happiest of my life, Warren. I feel like I've found the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. But when you proposed, it threw me completely; I didn't know if I was coming or going."

Warren waits a second, looking at with his beautiful blue eyes, and raises his blond eyebrows. "And now?"

"I feel less confused, if that's what you mean. I just spoke with some people I care about a great deal, and they helped to set me straight."

"And they were…?"

"My brother and his wife." 

I watch his eyes fill with comprehension. "Ah – I see. Makes sense, I guess – what did they say?" 

"They said I shouldn't make you wait too long. They told me that I shouldn't dwell on what I've done and where I've been. They said I should take this opportunity by the throat and not hold back." I smile. "And I can't see any reason not to. Not now."

Warren's eyes light up. "Then…"

"I'll marry you. If you'll still have me."

Warren raises an eyebrow. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Well… are you sure you want to marry someone who has to take advice from a scatterbrained faerie and her muscleheaded twin brother to help decide one of the most important questions of her life?" Warren smiles.

"If she looked like you? I'd be helpless to resist. You're not getting out of this that easily, Betts." He reaches into his pocket and brings out the little box that he had showed me before. "Kept it with me, just in case," he says, with a sheepish smile on his face. "Here." He takes my left hand and eases the ring onto my finger. We are reduced to giggles when he can't get it past my knuckles – a reaction brought on by excessive stress, rather than any real humour, I think. Eventually he manages to get it on my finger, and I look at how it appears on my hand. It sparkles in the dying sunlight, a physical representation of Warren's love for me, and my willingness to accept that love. It's beautiful, like him.

"Thank you, Warren – it's wonderful," I say.

"I thought you'd like it," he says, his blue eyes sparkling. "I guess we should tell the others at some point. Do you want to go do that now, or should we wait?"

"Give it until the morning," I tell him, yawning. "Let them stew a little longer."

"Sounds like a good idea to me." Warren flexes his wings in order to catch as much of the sun's faltering heat as he can, and sips from his beer. He offers me a mouthful, and even though I'm not a big fan of American liquor in general, I take a small sip and swallow it in one liquid movement. It's not brilliant, but it's not terrible, either, and I could certainly get used to it.

I ease myself alongside Warren, my back touching his belly, and feel him wrap his arms around me.

"I guess we should start planning for the wedding," he says softly.

"In the morning," I say sleepily. "It can wait until then, too."

"All right, Betsy. I guess it can, at that." I feel his arms tighten gently around me, imparting more warmth, and I lay my head against the soft, downy carpet of his feathers.

"We could always run off to Vegas," I suggest, suddenly.

"Seriously?" I can sense Warren's surprise. "You'd be willing to drop everything and fly out to Nevada? Just like that?"

"It'd certainly take the hard work out of it, wouldn't it?" I say, making sure that he can feel my amusement. "No, Warren, it was just an idea. I can't think of anything I'd rather do less than eloping."

"Me neither." He yawns. "You're right. We should talk more about this in the morning. Come on. Let's go to bed." He picks me up in his arms and starts to walk back towards the mansion.

"My hero. I hope you're able to do this on our wedding night."

"Ms Braddock, I would consider my honour."

"So would I, Warren. So would I."


End file.
